


Summer Weather

by khazadspoon



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Mentions of impotence, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 07:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20150185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khazadspoon/pseuds/khazadspoon
Summary: Summer in Cornwall was precisely what was needed. Warm air, steady and constant even as clouds turned the sky grey, settled on the skin of two men forced into the latter portion of their lives by circumstance and cruel fate.Seagulls cried overhead and circled the cliffs and shoreline. Somewhere, a dog barked as a cat skittered through a garden too close for the dog to abide willingly. Fishmongers sold their stocks, grocers tended to market stalls and the sense of life and purity was fresh and palpable.In a shady room lit by a single small window, curtains drawn almost closed, James rediscovered a part of himself he had thought lost to the white tundra far North of where he was then.





	Summer Weather

Summer in Cornwall was precisely what was needed. Warm air, steady and constant even as clouds turned the sky grey, settled on the skin of two men forced into the latter portion of their lives by circumstance and cruel fate. 

Seagulls cried overhead and circled the cliffs and shoreline. Somewhere, a dog barked as a cat skittered through a garden too close for the dog to abide willingly. Fishmongers sold their stocks, grocers tended to market stalls and the sense of  _ life  _ and  _ purity  _ was fresh and palpable. 

In a shady room lit by a single small window, curtains drawn almost closed, James rediscovered a part of himself he had thought lost to the white tundra far North of where he was then. 

Between his thighs, his prick stood tall. It ached, a pleasant and distracting ache that tugged at his stomach and mind in tandem. He fisted the sheets with shaking hands as lips wandered aimlessly over the skin of his shoulder, his chest, working their way down and  _ down- _

He groaned, the sound stifled by his own lip caught between his teeth (both false and his own) and reached down to run fingers through almost untouched hair. Francis pressed into his touch as he always did. Even after the long and treacherous journey back to England from what should have been their cemetery, Francis still stuck to his side as though kept there by stitches. He had followed as James sought warmer and less barren climates to settle in. 

A nip at his thigh drew him from his thoughts and made him laugh. “Francis!”

“You drifted. Can't have you drifting away when we have a chance at this, can I?” The man replied with a laugh of his own, fingers moving feather-light over James' skin until they reached the hard prick between his thighs. 

He moaned as the fingers gripped him, that singular pleasure singing through his veins as Francis began to tug gently on him. The rhythm was slow, reintroducing pleasure into his system with delicate and familiar motions that reminded him of lazy afternoons as a younger man with partners whose faces he had long since forgotten. But here, with Francis, after so long unable to get a  _ rise  _ out of himself, it was almost too much. He whimpered and arched into the touch, his very  _ bones  _ greedy for any seed of feeling they could find. Francis gripped him a little tighter, tugged a little faster, the sound of skin on skin making James' head spin. 

“Please,” he breathed between kiss-pink lips. “Francis, it's been so long  _ please-” _

Francis let go, scrambling to lay by his side before taking James' cock in his hand once more. He touched James with strict purpose then, kissing and nipping at his neck and making small hungry sounds in the back of his throat. “That's it,” he said in a low, husky voice. “You've waited so long, we both have. No need to wait any more.”

He shook his head, grabbing at Francis with greedy hands to drag the man closer. “Want- with  _ you _ ,” he gasped, rolling Francis onto his back and clambering up to sit astride his hips. He felt the thick press of Francis' cock at his backside and groaned again, rolled his hips to feel it press and shift against his skin. The oil they had used earlier, the fingering that had led to his aroused state, was still slick as Francis' fingers found it again. 

Francis pressed two fingers into him with a gasp, a gasp bitten off as James gripped his cock and pressed it to his hole with inadvisable haste. The first push left him breathless, Francis' fingers holding him open until the head of his cock slipped in with a 'pop'. 

_ “Fuck!”  _ He cried out, his head thrown back as Francis' prick pressed in further. By the time his backside had settled firmly on Francis' hips, his chest was heaving. Sweat broke out on his chest and neck, his hands balled into fists on Francis' chest. He rolled his hips once and felt Francis' cock twitch inside him. It lit fires in his gut, sent them roaring through his blood as his body remembered the  _ joy  _ of being like this with someone who meant more than the world to him. Francis thrust up into him with a sigh and stroked his thighs with trembling hands. 

“It's alright,” Francis murmured at the whimper that fell from James' lips. “Take it slowly.”

James, not one to be told to do  _ anything  _ in a way he did not wish to do it, lifted his hips and began to move in earnest. He rocked forward, moaning in tandem with the squeak of the bed. Below him, Francis panted and gripped at his hips with white-knuckled fervency. 

The sensation, the  _ fullness,  _ left James in a state of euphoria. He let his body move as though possessed by some spirit of lust and love, riding Francis and taking every ounce of pleasure he could. It was built in his stomach, moved down to curl his toes, travelling like a frisson of lightning over his skin and standing his head on end.

Francis rose up onto his elbows and took James' face in one large hand. “James,” he uttered in a broken voice, “look at me, love. Let me see you.”

Their eyes met and James felt his chest cave in. He swallowed the choked sob that threatened to fall from his lips but could not stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. It was a new beginning - they had survived the ice, had formed a bond untainted by tragedy and now James was  _ whole again _ . He leaned down and kissed Francis with every ounce of feeling he could, felt the passion returned as Francis held onto him with a tight grip. 

Between them, his prick rubbed against the skin of Francis' stomach, the way eased by sweat, and the friction drew him closer to orgasm than he had thought possible. He touched himself in wonder, Francis' lips at his throat once more, and let  _ le petit mort  _ wash over him like some sacrilegious baptism. He barely felt Francis finish inside him, his every thought bent on the feeling of  _ finishing.  _ It knocked the breath from his lungs in a hitched sigh, spilt from his prick in a rush that covered his fist and Francis' skin alike. 

They lay in a tangle of limbs for nearly half an hour, skin cooling and sweat drying. James felt the strange sensation of come inside him and only half-minded it. The struggle of leaving the bed, to extricate himself from Francis' arms, could wait for another time. Soon, no doubt, but not now. 

Fingers threaded through his hair and soothed him almost to sleep. He listened to the steady thud of Francis' heartbeat beneath his ear and drew invisible patterns on his skin - waves, lines of map charts, a compass that pointed towards the true North of Francis' heart. 

“We should get up,” Francis murmured above him. He sounded half-asleep, but James was too so that was hardly a problem. “The market will be shut soon, then what will we eat?” 

James huffed and curled around Francis like a limpet on the bow of a ship. “ _ Then  _ we will go into town and eat as Gentlemen, at some fancy Inn hiding clandestine meetings of all kinds.”

A laugh, and then the press of lips against his hairline. “That does sound rather tempting.”

He lifted his head and looked up at Francis with glittering eyes. “After, if you can convince it, my own hidden temptations might be yours again.”

Francis licked his lips and nodded once. “I shall try my best.”

They kissed, the sound of gulls overhead marking the passage of time in the slowly darkening sky. 


End file.
